Under the Hill
by Starken Dark Feathers
Summary: Title is a pun on the last name 'Underhill.' Legolas, Gimli, OC. Non-mary sue, may be slash in later chapters.


Under the Hill  
  
By Starken Dark Feathers  
  
Author's Notes: This is the first time I've written for the Lord of the Ring's section in about two years. When I did, it was under different pen names when I was an inexperienced and immature writer. Re-reading the trilogy over again has given me new inspiration, and I am now currently on Book Four (in other words, part two of the Two Towers.) My memory is not impressive, so I do forget most parts of the book version of Return of the King. Anyway, not writing here for so long, I'm not so sure of the story format people use, but I'll try my best. Thank you.  
  
Prologue  
  
There is no way of telling day from night within the depths of Moria. It is a dark place, with a stench that could dampen any heart. Its shafts and halls had been long abandoned, but for hideous orcs and goblins. Dwarves, Moria's own people, had mysteriously disappeared while trying to re-inhabit their kingdom.  
  
But, just recently...  
  
Soft footsteps could be heard on the stone floors. The pitter-patter of bare feet, the barely audible step of an Elven slipper, the steady beat of leather boots, and the heavy bang of a Dwarven steel-toed boot echoed throughout the halls.  
  
Now the footsteps had stopped. The traveler's were peacefully resting in the gloom, if that was at all possible. However, one of the company stood, while all others lay.  
  
He was Legolas Greenleaf, youngest son of the King of Mirkwood. He had a fair, wise face with bright eyes that gleamed even in the Mines he so desperately wanted to leave. As he stood, peering over a ledge that faded into darkness, thought consumed him. His delicate eyelids closing, he slightly tossed back his dark* hair and began to sing. They were of a fair Elven speech, and in the Common Tongue, spoke;  
  
Niluriel! Niluriel! Queen of mystery Defy the sun! Defy the sea! Never seen, a face so fair Skin that smells of elanor And blossoms dancing in Her hair Seen by Elves no more Lo! to such despair! An Elf so small Said to lie in the West With courage tall Awakening from rest Niluriel! Niluriel!  
  
With that, bent his head and sighed softly. The echoes of his enchanting voice still rang throughout the deep.  
  
"Who's this Niluriel you speak of? No doubt another gaily dancing Elf- lord, who is also plagued by infinite sorrow?" came a gruff voice, followed by the inevitable chuckle. It was unmistakably Gimli the Dwarf, son of Glóin.  
  
Legolas jolted around to see that Gimli sat stiffly up in his blankets. The elf was surprised yet seemingly delighted that he was not the only one awake. But, of the question, he did not answer. He simply turned around once again, consumed by thought.  
  
Gimli grunted. "Elves! What a rude bunch," he grumbled, shuffling uncomfortably in his 'bed.' "At least have the courtesy to answer me, Elf. I was asking a question, if you ignore the jest."  
  
Legolas stood stiffly, his elegant body tense. "Answer me this first, Dwarf," he said at length. "You do not seem tired, but my heart troubles me and I have gone without rest for many nights. You are awake, why do you not take my place as watchmen, so that I may sleep?"  
  
Gimli almost laughed. "Such an admittance from an Elf! Tired, you say!" He sat silent for a moment. "I will take your position for some hours, before Gandalf wakes...but only first if you answer my question. A curious dwarf will drive you mad, and its best you answer before I get too curious."  
  
Legolas smiled, confident in the fact he was turned away from Gimli. Raising his head, he looked to the shafts high above his head. "Niluriel is no Elf-lord," he said quietly, as not to wake up the rest of the company. "I do not know exactly what she is..." his voice sounded weary and troubled. "My people once spoke of a beautiful creature with Elven blood. She was small and much different, yet much the same as us. Elves are a wise, old people that have seen many things. They rarely ever become curious, but She was such a mystery that they became entranced with Her. They say She once lived with the Elves, but traveled to the West and forgot many years because of Her other half."  
  
The elf prince turned again, seeing Gimli still intently watching him. Legolas looked to the sleeping Halflings, seeming dismayed. "Curiosity of Her has dwindled in the young Elves, and now it is but a mere tale of Elder Elves. But She who we call Niluriel is alive, in the West! The curiosity burns in me strongly. Her fragrance lingers in my soul. I wish to ask the Halflings if they have ever heard of such a creature but lo! there are more important tasks at hand. I hoped that in this quest, I should find clues to where this fair creature lies. Alas! It is a vain hope!"  
  
Gimli saw a passion in Legolas' eyes he had never seen before. "An unknown thing for an Elf must be painfully curious," he replied. "Especially when it involves a creature that shares your blood. But you cannot make me drink enough malt beers to make me think an Elven face is fair," he said, half in jest. "Dwarven women are what women are meant to be; round and gruff, with something to hold onto! On the chin, I mean."  
  
Legolas smiled, strangely enjoying the Dwarf's company. "You mean to say that Dwarven woman grow facial hair, just as Dwarven men?" his tone was curious, but beneath it Gimli could catch a slight hint of disgust.  
  
A smile was unmistakable despite Gimli's thick, auburn, braided beard. "Ah, yes. An exquisite creature, the female Dwarf!" his voice quickly turned from admiration to his usual, gruff tone. "But I'm sure an Elf such as yourself could not admire and appreciate their beauty."  
  
Seeming amused, the Elf ventured away from the ledge and sat cross- legged across from Gimli. "No appreciation?" he repeated, sounding as if he were thinking aloud. "Well, maybe not from description, but we shall see, if I am ever to meet a lady Dwarf. We shall see." He paused for a moment. "Shall we make a bet?"  
  
Gimli seemed surprised at the sly sound this question produced. "A bet with an Elf?" he grumbled, looking around to see that no one had been stirred from their rest. He finally nodded. "What's this bet all about? Are you plotting something?"  
  
"You could say that," answered the Elf, laughing softly. "You say you could never see an Elven face as fair. I doubt that I shall look upon the face of a bearded lady and lo! my heart swells. So, this is what we will do; whoever is caught in an awe of the beauty of an Elf or Dwarf, the race being opposite of their own, shall forfeit their..." here he seemed at a loss.  
  
"Pride." Answered Gimli briskly. He could see puzzlement in his companion's eyes. "They will forfeit their pride," he repeated. "Everyone shall know. All in the company, all of your kin, and it shall make a tale for fellow travelers."  
  
Legolas seemed to be pondering the idea. "And how will we be sure that the correct punishment will be dealt out, if we have only each other's trust to depend on?" he asked, seeming wary.  
  
"That is simple!" said Gimli in a horse whisper. "I know we will both make sure that that the 'punishment' will be dealt out. Are you contended with that? Or would you rather forfeit something less damaging than your ego?" His face was smug.  
  
Legolas smirked. "I am content with that, Gimli son of Glóin," he answered. "But I am not contended with another promise we have made. It is now my time for sleep, and your time for standing on guard!"  
  
And with that, the Elf prince bade the Dwarf a goodnight, and peacefully fell asleep.  
  
***  
  
There was still a raging storm of rumors in Bree. It was alike very much to the Shire, for the talk of certain individuals rarely died down until weeks after the event was over with. That could be much contributed to the Hobbit folk of Bree.  
  
The rumors and speculation at this time? The noisy arrival and sudden departure of a Hobbit lad calling himself Mr. Underhill, supposedly a 'relative' of the Underhills native to Bree.  
  
Even though the event had taken place many weeks before, it still remained fresh in most people's (more specifically, Hobbits) minds. As was the case for Bill Ferny, who had been unfortunate enough to have an apple thrown in his face by one of Mr. Underhill's companions. He was now casually leaning over the hedge, his beady eyes scanning the dust road beyond the boundaries of his garden.  
  
He was happy to find a young lass walking up the lane, all alone but for what seemed to be a tall walking stick. He rubbed his greasy hands together, keeping his stare on her.  
  
Saeda Underhill had been one of the many Bree-natives to witness what now seemed to be a legend. She had laughed when Mr. Underhill danced upon a table, singing of fiddles and silver Sunday dishes, and gasped when he disappeared into mid-air. But she still didn't see what all the fuss was about.  
  
The Halfling continued along the Bree road, where she was walking. She passed the last clay houses of Men along the road, humming something under her breath. She stood roughly four and a half feet above the ground, quite a bit taller than the average Hobbit, and thirty years old by Hobbit standards. Finally, she caught sight of Bill, who raised his hand in meaning for her to stop.  
  
"Good day, little friend!" said the tall man, vulgarly spitting a wad of chewing tobacco on to the ground, nearly hitting the young Halfling's feet. "Where are you off to? This is the edge of town. There's no way to go now but back where ye came from."  
  
Saeda managed a smile, wary of the man's reputation to house Southerners and other suspicious folk. "Hullo," she replied. "I'm continuing my route this way, good sir."  
  
Bill's eyes wandered to her back, where an over-supplied backpack rested. It was a faded green, and bulging here and there with odd shapes. He then realized the means for a walking stick; she was planning to leave town for a bit. Well, perhaps more than a bit.  
  
"Leaving, are you?" he asked, scowling. "You've gone the wrong way! The Halfling-land is to the West. There's nothing this way but trouble. Do you even know what lands lay beyond the border of Bree? Leaving here is foolishness, lass." his tone seemed concerned, but the undertone contained some sort of plan.  
  
It was true that Saeda had first intended to leave for the Shire. It was an interesting prospect; a land consisting of only Hobbits. There was also the fact that Mr. Underhill himself had come from the Shire, meaning that branches of her own family might have somehow ended up traveling West.  
  
"No, I'm not sure what path I follow now," answered Saeda truthfully. "But that is what makes life so exciting! I'm going on an adventure. I shall see the lands that you will never see, Bill Ferny, and hopefully that thought will beg your pardon for my 'foolishness.' Now, if you'll excuse me..."  
  
Saeda's large, furry feet had barely taken a few steps when she felt a grip on her dark hair. She turned her head slightly sideways to see Bill grinning at her. Her heart began to beat furiously in fear. The Man's grip was tight, and was holding onto the ends of her hair. When it was down, her shimmering black hair fell beyond on her waist.  
  
"I wasn't finished talking to you," he growled. "I want to know if you'd be interested in working for me, in my stables. It'd be worth your while, young one," he said, his eyes glimmering in a peculiar manner.  
  
"Let go of my hair first, and then I shall answer you," said the Hobbit, barely above a whisper. The grip loosened, and finally let go of her oddly straight locks. Without looking back, she began to run wildly, her backpack making a clanging sound against her back. She heard Bill yelling, but eventually his words faded out as the sound of her own panting rang in her pointed ears.  
  
Eventually, when the dirt path had ended and she was now on a vast, green plain, she stopped running. Looking back to the busy town of Bree, she sighed in relief, looking to the road ahead. "And onwards to adventure!" she whispered, still out of breath.  
  
End of Prologue  
  
*I am a firm believer than Legolas had dark brown to black hair, not blonde. The color of his hair was never verified in the book, but his father was known to have shimmering blonde hair. However, this was expressed as a rarity among the Elves of Mirkwood. Though Legolas is his son, he is the youngest, with older brothers. Therefor, please do not comment saying something like "Hey! In the movie, Legolas has blonde hair!"  
  
But, I would like comments as to know how my work has been accepted. Keep in mind, this was just a prologue. I'll put up the rest if there is demand for further chapter. Thank you very much for reading this! It deeply moves me. Annyeong! ^.^ 


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